Anomie
by MissMaiamai
Summary: Soren sat in coffee houses in the early morning with chai tea and Microsoft Word. That was how she thrived—on simple pleasures. Now she longs to create a new life in Stardew Valley, no matter the uncanny consequences.


Soren breathed deeply as she leaned her head back to rest on the window. Rickety and old, the bus's vibrations made her teeth rattle. Her laptop sat uneasily in her lap and her bags strew themselves about the bus floor. No one else on board, she no longer cared where her bags decided to bounce to. That, and despite being alone, the document on her laptop presented a measly number of words, none of it being overall thought-provoking. She pulled down her scarf, hoping the confines of the bus were the reason for her unease and inability to write.

 _Today I got on a bus to take me to Stardew. What am I even doing? The bus driver seems nice enough, if not out of his mind. He has a scraggly beard and wispy hair. In a couple of years, he'll be a powdered doughnut. At least he seems happy. I guess that's all I ever want to be. This will hopefully be a new beginning for me. I'm sick and tired of sitting in my cubicle and taking those mind-numbing phone calls, one after the other. I'm sick of it._

 _I'm scared. This bus is giving me anxiety, all rattle-y, all broken._

She knew it wasn't so. After being cooped up in between corporate jobs the past few months, her anxiety stemmed from moving. Her grandfather left her the deed to his farm - something she'd never expect she would need.

She wasn't a farm kind of girl. She sat in coffeehouses in the early morning with an almond milk chai tea latte and classical Baroque. She wore her hair up and used sulfate free shampoo. She always wore cardigans and combat boots. She would sit for hours, sipping and writing about anything and everything that came to her mind. Pandora would lag whenever she had too many 10,000 word documents open. But after three failed relationships, even more failed careers, and an eviction notice on her porch, she fell short $12.32 for the bus ride. If the driver, a man who occasionally sung oldies at the mile markers, had not pitched in for her, she would have walked the streets.

Soren shifted uncomfortably. The entire way she had been fighting sniffles and sighs. She finally closed her laptop, having read the same sentence ten times and ought not to fix it. She sat with one knee bent, the opposite leg casually straightened out. Her boot swayed back and forth with the bus. She wiped her nose on her sweater's sleeve, pursed her lips, and stared out the window.

"Stardew Valley?" the man piped up again as he did every now and then.

Soren glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. His eyes were slits under bushy brows, fixated on the road ahead.

"That's the one," she confirmed.

The bus turned slightly, taking Soren off guard. He had taken an exit. She raised herself off the bench, looking out over the country. The land was mostly barren as the trees had yet to blossom in time for spring. Overlooking it all, a sign passed them bearing the words "Pelican Town - 1 Mile".

"Where is this?" she asked the man, intrigued. Perhaps they had gotten off at another rest area. If so, she wanted to stretch her legs.

"End of the line," he affirmed. "My ride stops at Pelican Town in the Stardew Valley."

Soren tensed. It couldn't be time yet. It couldn't have been four hours yet.

She shoved her laptop into the nearest bag and gathered the other bag off the floor, slinging them over her shoulders. The trees passed by quickly on the side of the road as they approached a small building, bus slowing, breaks squealing. Her heart pounded.

The bus came to a stop. She stood uneasily, shaking from the rested state of her muscles. The man pressed a button on the control panel and the door opened, creaking. She hobbled up to the front and placed a hand on the back of his chair.

"Sir, I can't… I don't know how to thank you."

He waved her worry away, "Don't worry about it. But tell me this," he asked, "why do you think a girl like you can run a farm all by herself?"

She searched his face. His skepticism was unforgiving. He thought she was an imbecile. An idiot.

"Because it's my only option," she confessed honestly, retreating from him. "I might have no money, but the house is paid for, and I'll have a roof over my head."

He smiled sadly, though ingenuine.

"I hope this place is good to you."

She pursed her lips and nodded.

"Me too," she managed.

She stepped off the bus onto a murky ground, a mixture of rocks, twigs, and soil. Immediately the sounds of wildlife filled the air, as well as the heaves of the bus's engine as it began rolling away. Exhaust puffed into the air around her. A simple sign marked the area as the bus stop, as well as a tiny wooden bench. Below her, the sidewalk was paved in an elaborate pattern of bricks, much unlike the concrete of the city. Across the street, a small building bore no inkling as to what it stood for, but the lights were on.

"Here we go," she whispered to herself. She repositioned her bags on her shoulders and marched forward, towards the little building. It looked fairly old, though the exterior had been cleaned recently - no cobwebs over the windows. And the door, a muddy auburn, had been recently painted. She awkwardly grabbed the knob and pushed into the house. Just as cold as outside, Soren noted the lack of powered heat in this old building. It looked much like a post office-locker boxes lined the wall adjacent to her, and a long desk filled the other side. Tucked in the furthest corner, a little blond woman sat, working on some sort of newspaper puzzle. She hardly acknowledged Soren's presence, but Soren stepped up to the counter nevertheless.

"Excuse, me? I called a few days ago, my name is Soren Shore, I'm here about my grandfather's farm."

The woman eyed her for a moment before taking her attention back to the paper. She uncapped a pen in her mouth and circled something on the page. Soren swore she could smell an uncanny odor.

"You'd best see old mayuh Lewis, down the way. And quit botherin' me," she spat, pen cap between her teeth.

"Sorry," she said, confused. "Where might I find this man?"

Soren's voice audibly twisted into distaste, but this woman did not care. She looked mid-fifties or so, having let herself go in her forties. Her hair puffed all around her head, and poorly applied purple eyeshadow scattered dust over her cheekbones. Mascara dotted her eyelids. Thick foundation stuck in the crow's feet crevices around her eyes.

"He's in the big house, truck out front. Hard to miss."

"How far?"

"You'll know when ya' see it."

Soren pursed her lips. She figured someone would have been here to help her carry her bags, but as it was, this woman had no intention of doing so. Her arms were flabby and weak, and her muffin-topped hips flattened in the chair. There was no muscle to shape her figure; this woman obviously disdained any sort of activity.

"Okay," Soren grumbled, stumbling back toward the doorway. She barely opened the door and shoved it open the rest of the way with her foot. The air was much fresher outside, and she was glad for it.

The forest surrounded her, but it was obvious where the woman had been directing her towards. The valley, entirely visible from her vantage, sat beyond her. The trees speared the blue sky, and below them, the red rooftops of the town painted the scene. A long pathway of the same brick pattern and stairs led down into the valley. Stardew Valley, as it was aptly named. She pictured the night sky; the sky speckled with stars showered down on the small civilization.

As her bags began to weigh on her, she hastily proceeded across the street and down into the valley. Her boots, with rubber soles, were rough on the pathway, making scuffing sounds on every step. The pathway was steep as well; the walk had become especially difficult to traverse with duffel bags. However, in now time the trees cleared away and she noticed the inhabitant life. This area was filled with tiny homes and tiny gardens. The only trees remaining covered the yards of the homes. Some trees had tire swings, others hung, lonely, over the rooftops.

She passed several homes, looking over them all with genuine interest. They appeared just as any city's suburban neighborhood—they were within their own little community. It wasn't a barren town. It was a neighborly one. The picket fences which lined the houses obviously weren't for privacy, but the occasional barking dog or young child. Maybe both.

"Hi, there!"

Soren buffeted, not expecting the voice of a child. The boy, maybe 6 or 7 years old, stood straightly, showing off an array of colors from his tucked shirt to his strappy shoes. He stood in a yard away from her, gazing intently with big, wide eyes. He held a football.

"Hello," Soren called. "What's your name?"

"I'm Vincent. What's your name?"

"Soren," she answered sweetly. "What are you up to?"

"I'm looking for bugs. My friend Jas hasn't come yet," he explained, walking over to her. He pointed, exaggerating, at her bags. "Why do you have all of those?"

"I'm moving in here. Well, into the farm. Do you know where the mayor's house is?"

Enthusiastic, Vincent's finger moved over several houses to her right. She saw a dull green pickup out front, just as the woman had suggested.

"Thank you, Vincent," she praised, lowering herself to meet his height and dropping her bags on the ground around her.

"My teacher Miss Penny says you should always help people. But sometimes I don't want to."

Soren laughed. "Well then I'm very grateful you decided to help me."

"Have you met Miss Penny?"

She shook her head. "You are actually the first person who I have met. I mean, there was a woman at the bus stop, but she wasn't as friendly as you."

"Oh, that's Miss Penny's mom. I don't like her. She's always mean to Miss Penny."

"What's her name?"

Vincent shrugged. The door to his house creaked ajar, and a blond man walked out, holding a cell phone in one hand and a book in the other. He stared down at the letters on the page. It looked like a manual.

"Vincent, dinner's ready... Yeah, mom, I know, I got it. I have to take 220 first. Yeah, I registered."

He looked up. He was visibly confused, yet intrigued.

"Mom, yeah. Hey, can I call you back? Mom. I'll call you in twenty. I have to get Vincent dinner."

The man clicked away the call on his cell phone and closed the book.

"This my friend, Soren," Vincent introduced, arms wide out, displaying Soren between them. "She's gonna live at that big farm!"

"She is?" he exasperated. He approached apprehensively, stuffing his hand in his pocket. He stared at Soren in somewhat awe, and Soren smiled back. He had deep-set brows and a rugged face, though trimmed and tidy. His hair fell neatly off the left side of his face. He wore blue jeans, Nike sneakers, and a plain sweatshirt that handsomely hugged his shoulders.

He continued, "I guess I didn't picture you as a girl when Lewis told us. I thought of an old redneck dude in a tractor, to be honest."

"It's all good," she said. "I know, I'm quite the predecessor to my grandfather."

Sam looked her over. She was small—much smaller than a farmer should be. He imagined at least some muscle, but it appeared she was dainty under her long brown sweater and scarf. She wore plain blue jeans and had them tucked messily into her boots. Her hair, falling from its place at the back of her head, was straight and long and dark. Short hairs framed her face, flying in every direction. On the ground around her rested two large duffel bags.

"I never met him, sorry. I'm Sam, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you. It's Soren."

"I already told him that," Vincent corrected. "Hey, Sam, will you play us that song you played yesterday?"

"Vincent, c'mon, I made your favorite. Hot dog mac n' cheese."

Sam gestured for Vincent to enter the house, and the young boy did so without complaint, gleeful all the way for the food. He skipped along and raced into the house. Sam looked back at Soren. Her bags together were nearly her size.

"Uh… Do you need help carrying your bags?"

"Oh," she said, flushing. "It's okay. They're not that bad, I think I can handle. I'm just going to the mayor's house, and he'll help me get settled."

"Sounds good," he acquiesced, moving toward the door. "If you guys need any help let me know, okay?"

Soren grabbed all of her bags and reseated them on her shoulders with a huff. She nodded.

She breathed, "Yeah, I'll see you later. Sam, right?"

"Yeah. Soren. See you around."

He smirked and withdrew back into the house. She heard Vincent's voice beyond the doorway before Sam clicked the door shut.

She quickly walked down to the Mayor's home. After meeting Sam and Vincent, she had become suddenly excited—the people here were kinder than she imagined, even if it was just them. For whatever reason, her mind had created a vision where she was outcast and lived alone on her farm outside of town. Now, she waltzed down to meet the mayor.

The pickup truck, with round edges and silver trim, belonged in the 60s. It sported a perfect greenish paint that not a crack could be found in. The hood was lifted, and a thick blue tarp was folded up on the ground beside it. She instantly knew why her grandfather had been friends with this man—he too had a passion for revamping old automobiles. Along the sidewalk were various tools and parts she could not hope to identify, but she carefully pushed them into the grass with her boot. One of her strengths included slipping and falling on tiny objects and she was not prepared to exercise that specialty.

She approached the building. It looked like a mansion compared to the other houses. It was at least twice the size. That, and it also exuded a more elite presence. Instead of picket fences, an intricate steel gate lined the property. The pickup existed as the sole vehicle in the neighborhood. Dark, dreary colors set it apart from the other homes.

Soren knocked loudly on the door, though intimidated by its size. Someone shuffled about audibly inside, scrambling to the door. The man swung it open, and she found him to be a much more inviting presence than she had expected.

"Why, hello there! Soren, is it?"

"Uh, yes. I'm Soren Shore."

"Come in, come in! I've got a kettle on the stove if you would like some tea."

She walked into the room. Greeted by the sounds of a crackling hearth and screaming kettle, she gazed about the room. The mayor had decorated with dark colors and cozy couches. The room lacked a television but instead harbored a record player deep in the corner. There was much room for dancing, and she assumed he had hosted parties here once upon a time. She enjoyed the sound of her shoes on this floor and wondered if she should take them off.

She set her bag down by the wall but kept the smaller one on her person. Lewis, a short old man with a big nose and a skip in his gait, marched over to the kitchen. He pulled the kettle off the stove to null the screech and disappeared momentarily. When he reappeared, he held a platter with a cup of tea and sugar cubes.

"You're not having one yourself?" Soren wondered as he set the platter down on the coffee table.

"Oh, no. It's black tea. The caffeine will keep me up far too late," he chided. He beckoned her to follow him to the sofas and sit. She agreed, settling in the comfort of the leather.

"How was the ride here?" he followed up.

Soren sat and shrugged. She prepared herself tea with two sugar cubes, letting them melt away before stirring.

"Bus ride. Not the most pleasant experience anyway… And then there was a woman at the bus stop, and she was not very hospitable."

"Pam, yes, I apologize. She can be a tad sour," he grimaced. Soren lifted her tea from the tray and blew across the surface, stirring. "She let go of herself a number of years ago and hasn't been the same since."

"I'm sorry," Soren said.

"It's her choice. Anyway, when we spoke on the phone, I told you which documentation you needed. Do you have those now?"

"Yes," she said, digging into her duffle and pulling out a folder. She handed the entire thing to him. He opened it, peering through the various papers. He plucked one from the pile.

"Would you look at that, the old man did all the work for you. The name on the property-Annabeth Eileen Shore II?"

"That's my legal name. It's the same as my mother's, so I go by Soren."

"I was wondering," Lewis ventured, "did your grandfather call you that?"

Soren paused. "Did he talk about me?"

"Well, you would have been a little one, but his prize-winning horse was named Soren. Passed just after he did, the girl was so grief-stricken."

"Oh," she mumbled. "I never knew that. I didn't get to see him a whole lot before he died. At least the name stuck. Kind of his legacy, I guess."

"His legacy is more than just a name. You'll learn that quickly around here."

Soren stared, a little off-put by his choice of words. Her tea shifted around in the cup, swirling slowly in a circle.

"I'm sorry?" she issued for him to explain. Bewilderment painted her expression. He paid no heed to her and gave her but a glance to discern her confusion before returning his gaze to the document.

"It's nothing. His name is well-known, is all."

She relaxed. She wasn't sure whether it was his tone that had put her on edge, but she had a rough day nevertheless; perhaps she still harbored anxiety from the bus ride. She took a deep, audible breath.

"My dad told me he made him a shrine in his honor," she said. Lewis looked disappointed.

"It's unfortunate your father didn't follow in his footsteps. And yes, the shrine is on the property."

Soren bit her cheek. She got defensive. "He wanted a good living for his family."

Lewis held back words. Soren found herself growing more distant from this man with the minute—he wasn't admitting something.

"Anyway, shall we go see the property?" he suggested. Soren set her cup of tea down on the table, still hot, and dug through her bag for a cutesy travel mug. She pulled it out, unscrewed the lid and dumped the contents in the mug.

"I try not to waste. Would you like me to put this away?" Soren wondered, pointing at the empty cup.

"No, no, of course not. I will rinse it when I get back here."

Lewis stood, leaving the papers out on the coffee table. Soren's name lied in the blanks, as her grandfather had given her the property before he passed.

"I'm confused, Lewis. Why didn't my grandfather give my parents the property?"

Lewis traversed the room, roaming over to the coat rack. He grasped one from it and fastened it around himself. He was really to leave.

"Maybe he believed they would sell it."

"That's true," Soren accepted. "But still, what if I had sold it? He never got to see me grow up; he didn't know what kind of person I was going to be."

Incomprehensible thoughts crossed her mind. Her grandfather couldn't have known she would keep the farm, much less move into it earlier in her life. Lewis guided her into the confusion.

"Intuition is a curious thing, isn't it?"

* * *

To anyone reading this, (If anyone does, lol. Who keeps tabs on Stardew Valley beside me?) should I make this a supernatural, crazy story or a regular life story? I've been binging many a show on Netflix this month so I'm not sure what direction I want this to go. Thank you!


End file.
